Its 01:45 am, 27-02-2010. I am sitting on my bed in my hostel, resting my back across the wall, my legs in the quilt and my laptop on my lap. In front of me, there is a window on which curtains with flowered pattern are hanging still, without movement. I have been staring at a yellow painting; right in front of me which I had started painting a few days back but did not complete it. I don’t know why. I am supposed to write about ‘balloons’ because some stupid friends of mine started this game of throwing words and writing on that topic and criticizing each other. You might have figured out that I am beating around the bush because I don’t feel much like writing right now but tomorrow is the deadline and I don’t want to hurt my friends who are really excited about this project. That means I have to write. So, here I go.
“In February, love is in the air. And my hometown Delhi is full of life, full of excitement, food, shopping, people, lovers hanging around at Mughal Gardens, which remain open only for this month of the year (I guess it’s for the V-Day). Kamla Nagar market is full of family crowd, kids crying over the street, the voice of the honking horns and rickshaw pullers urging you for a ride from Metro Station to the market just for 40 bucks. Chandni Chowk is no less bright. It gets difficult to move around during this period. Kake di Hatti, a typical Indian cuisine Dhaba has become a famous place to hang out and the day is incomplete without Rabri Faluda at Gianis, the original one. But wait, why am I roaming around here and there. Where are “balloons”? I will tell you, but for that you will have to travel with me.
I have a heart shaped balloon with me. Don’t ask me for whom it beats. I took an auto from SDA market, from where I picked you and now we are going to the metro station to meet my special someone (in short MSS). You are busy texting love messages to your special someone (YSS) but I will ignore that fact. I am in my own dreams. We are going to Maharaja Agrasen Hospital, where I will meet MSS. She broke her leg last week, while she was trying to sing a song, standing on top of an overhead water tank at her terrace. She fell over. I asked her what were you doing there. But I am telling you ‘Girls are very dangerous’. She told me she wanted to feel over the top of the world. Can you beat that? Can you? Never mind. Lets get back to the point. She is still recovering. Its 17-02-2012, 2pm. I am bunking my lab to see her. The balloon is still intact. Metro stops at Peeragarhi Metro Station and we deboard it. We are searching for Room No. W-45 on 2nd floor of the hospital. After 15 min of constant searching, I finally read the number-plate WC-45. A sense of relief. I stop outside the room. I expect to see her mother and father in the room. I am getting a little conscious now. I look at you. You are still busy with YSS on your cell phone. I am getting more conscious now. The balloon is still intact. I take a deep breath and open the door very swiftly. To my surprise, no one is there on the bed. I look around the room and I see her standing near the window in the room. Her back facing both of us. And as I call her name MSS, I faintly hear a voice “Sorry” and all of a sudden, she jumps out of the window. I can’t move. I can’t utter a word. The balloon is still intact.
This is one of the few stories which interconnects us all. The story of the manufacturer, who made that balloon using XYZ chemicals and processes and has no idea about the emotions he delivers to millions like us. The story of the supplier who distributes love all over Delhi but is himself divorced. The story of that young boy, who gave up his studies and sold that balloon to me, so that he could feed her little sister. The story of me ( the lover boy), who still asks the question, “Why?” And I know, I will never get the answer.
1 week later, I received a courier with my name on it, addressed by
“ MSS
Security Lawns,
IIT Campus, Hauz Khas
New Delhi”
There was a letter inside it. I opened it and it said,
“ With love. Your heart. Keep it. “
And as I opened the package, I found a red balloon inside it, fresh, without air, without love….
